


could be

by moonlit (dawnshine)



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Blow Jobs, Hand Jobs, Love Confessions, M/M, Making Out, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Recreational Drug Use, kinda cheesy ngl
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-28
Updated: 2020-06-28
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:34:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24956170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dawnshine/pseuds/moonlit
Summary: Smoking had just been another one of many ways Minho and Jisung would pass time together, unwind after a stressful week, or just fulfill a craving.Things have changed.
Relationships: Han Jisung | Han/Lee Minho | Lee Know
Comments: 24
Kudos: 435





	could be

**Author's Note:**

> this is nothing like my last fic and if u got here from that i'm sorry lmao. i haven't decided if i wanna use a pseud for nsfw stuff or not so it's going here for now!  
> i wrote this mostly on a whim but ended up liking it so i hope it's enjoyable <33

_“You wanna smoke tonight?”_

It’s a simple question, one he shouldn’t have to think twice about—one he _used_ to not think twice about, yet Jisung’s thumb falters before he can press the little blue arrow that would send Minho the invitation. 

Before, the two would smoke their fill on Jisung’s balcony, come in, usually order pizza or something equally unhealthy, then cuddle up next to each other to watch Netflix, listen to music, or just talk, words ranging from deep to nonsensical falling from their lips. The cuddling wasn’t anything new; they’re best friends and close ones at that, but Minho has proven to be exponentially more cuddly and clingy when he’s high. Jisung is more than happy to indulge him.

Minho wasn’t too keen on the idea of smoking at first, and even now he’s only up for it every once in a while. He’s too concerned with his fitness, especially his respiratory health as a dancer. Jisung is perfectly understanding of this and has never pressured him into doing so, but Minho likes the floaty, carefree feeling and the absurd amount of giggles that comes along with it, so he’s more than happy to indulge Jisung as well.

Smoking had just been another one of many ways they would pass time together, unwind after a stressful week, or just fulfill a craving. It used to be so simple. 

Things have changed.

_“That was a big hit,” Jisung laughs, setting the pipe and lighter aside to watch in amusement._

_Minho has a strained expression on his face as he struggles not to cough it back up. He chokes a bit, eyes watering, and Jisung laughs harder when two puffs of smoke are expelled from his nostrils and make him look like a huffing dragon._

_Minho beckons with his finger, mouth full, and Jisung can’t do anything but lean in curiously, half expecting Minho to blow the smoke right in his face. It wouldn’t be the first time._

_Instead, Minho’s hand finds the back of Jisung’s neck and he’s leaning closer and tilting his head and_ —oh. _Jisung waits for him to pull away, or to cough up the smoke and laugh in his face for thinking what’s about to happen was going to happen—but when Jisung warily parts his lips Minho’s are on them in an instant. The smoke is pushed into his mouth and escapes the minimal space between their lips to dance around their cheeks. Jisung breathes in everything Minho is willing to give as he leans more into the gesture, his chair creaking with the movement while his hand rests on Minho’s knee, on the skin bared by his ripped jeans._

_The world seems to slow to a stop on Jisung’s balcony, sitting on his shitty mismatched patio chairs with the boy he loves, the feeling of Minho’s hand and lips on him suspended in time like the stars shining above them._

_“Is this okay?” Minho asks, not pulling away completely as Jisung holds then gently exhales the smoke. It fans around Minho’s lips, framing his face with wisps of their shared breaths before dissipating into the cool night air._

_Jisung nods, and Minho is still so close, so he does the only thing he can think of: he kisses him, and Minho kisses him back like there’s nothing he’d rather do._

_That’s how it started. They didn’t talk about it, but they didn't stop, either._

“Jisungie,” Minho whines now, not even an hour after Jisung finally sent the text, burying his face in the crook of his friend’s neck from his spot beside him on the couch. His breath tickles his neck and makes Jisung squirm half-heartedly. “Can we make out?”

Jisung, effectively pulled from his entranced state of staring absently at whatever movie was playing on the TV, turns to Minho, tucked into his side with Jisung’s arm wrapped around him. He isn’t sure when it got there. 

Minho is looking up at him in a silent plea, and Jisung is sure he would look perfectly cute and innocent in doing so if his eyes weren’t half-lidded and a glassy red.

Embarrassment burns somewhere in the back of Jisung’s inebriated mind as he processes the request, settling in the pit of his stomach. It’s a strange, hazy feeling, and he can’t be bothered to address it now—not when Minho is looking at him like _that._

“Jisung,” Minho prompts gently, grabbing a fistful of Jisung’s shirt, and the younger’s heart picks up a bit from its slowed rhythm. 

“Of course, baby.” The words spill past his lips easy like honey, smooth and saccharine. Minho isn’t his baby, but in times like these Jisung can pretend. 

Minho hums contentedly when Jisung’s lips find his, tightening his grip in the fabric of his shirt. His lips move against Jisung slowly at first, but his kisses quickly evolve into something messier, hungrier, Jisung’s addled mind struggling to keep up. He tastes like strawberry chapstick and smoke, a combination Jisung has come to love. 

Jisung can’t help but wonder how Minho’s lips would feel if his own face weren’t half-numb, if his brain weren’t clouded, if he could properly feel him on his skin and taste him on his tongue, but he forces that train of thought to a halt. What happens between them while they’re floating up in the clouds stays there. 

They don’t talk about it, don’t think about it, aren’t kept up at night with thoughts of what could be. 

Like many nights when they end up entangled on the couch and Jisung too deep in his thoughts, he feels like he might either cry or say something stupid, so he attempts to lose himself in Minho further, reciprocating his kisses with as much fervor as he can muster. His arm feels heavy, but he manages to grab Minho’s leg that’s not pressed against him and pull it towards his lap. Minho gets the hint, shifting to straddle Jisung. He stumbles over him and Jisung moves too slowly to catch him, the two bursting out into giggles as he struggles to position himself. 

Minho hovers above him, swaying slightly, and offers a smug, lazy smile. Jisung’s hands are on Minho’s hips and his heart is surely on his sleeve as he looks up at Minho in utter adoration. He wishes he could take a picture right now and frame it in those longing corners of his mind, or stop time altogether, with Minho smiling down at him like he’s the only thing in the world, face flushed and lips raw. 

The moment is gone all too soon but replaced with something just as favorable, Minho’s small hands cupping Jisung’s face as he leans down to capture him in another kiss. This time he skips the formalities and licks across Jisung’s lips like he’s something to be devoured. Jisung parts his lips, eagerly welcoming Minho’s unusually aggressive tongue. 

He vaguely wonders if his dealer had given him a different strain, but decides he doesn’t care, not when he digs his fingertips into Minho’s hips like they’re the only things that tether him to reality (and they very well may be), not when Minho’s hips stutter forward and grind against him, and not when they both let out quiet, surprised moans into each other’s mouths.

Minho takes it as encouragement and repeats the movement, albeit a bit clumsily in his state, again and again until Jisung feels that familiar pressure in his stomach and dampness in his pants that has him rolling his hips up feebly, hands finding purchase on Minho’s firm thighs as they flex beneath his fingers. Minho licks into his mouth again and Jisung, desperate for something, _anything_ more, closes his lips around Minho’s tongue and sucks. 

Minho freezes his movements and Jisung wonders if he shouldn’t have done that; this _is_ new territory for them after all, having never gone past purely making out with the occasional addition of tongue. But then Minho grinds down on him harder, and Jisung gasps against him, gripping his thighs tight. 

“Fuck,” Minho pulls away to pant. “You’re so hot, Jisungie.” He brushes Jisung’s hair off of his forehead where it’s begun to dampen and stick with sweat. “I kinda want to suck your dick.” Jisung’s eyebrows raise and he’s sure his eyes would be comically wide if not for his drooping eyelids. 

“You want to… _what?”_ Jisung bursts into a fit of giggles, the foreign chemicals in his brain stepping up to fill in where he isn’t quite sure how to react. Minho follows suit, bursting out laughing as his head falls to rest on Jisung’s shoulder. He turns to pepper kisses up Jisung’s neck and along his jawline, Jisung still laughing like he’s heard the funniest joke and his best friend and the object of his affections hasn’t just implied—joked?—that he wants to give him head.

“I said,” Minho begins, punctuating his words with open-mouthed kisses on Jisung’s searing skin, “I want to suck your dick.” Minho sits up to look him in the eyes and even has the nerve to pout. “Please?”

Jisung huffs out another laugh at the absurdity of it all, suddenly feeling further from himself than he has all night, and his pants are so _tight_ —when did they become so uncomfortable? There’s a dulled-down nervous feeling in his chest and a stifled voice in the back of his mind which he easily ignores because how the hell is he going to say no to _that?_

“Okay,” he breathes. Anxiety lurks in the depths of his mind beneath the cracks of his high, tells him he’ll regret this, this will mess everything up, but the only thing he can focus on is the dizzy feeling in his head and the sight of Minho’s fingers fumbling to undo his belt and unbutton his pants. Minho makes a whiny, frustrated noise when the belt takes too long to cooperate and _fuck,_ Jisung is so in love with him. This is a bad idea. 

_This is a bad idea._

He opens his mouth, wants to tell Minho to stop, but the words choke and die in his throat. Jisung wants him _so much._

He watches in fascination as Minho slips off of his lap carefully, sinking onto the floor in front of him. Jisung gulps when Minho smirks up at him, hands sliding up his thighs to grab his belt loops, Jisung barely registering that he needs to lift himself off of the couch to help get his pants down. Minho starts giggling again as he palms Jisung through his underwear. 

“What?” Jisung’s nervous laughter is cut short by a moan. 

“You’re so wet,” Minho says, tracing the damp spot where the tip of his dick rests. Jisung shivers. “All for me?”

Jisung bites his lip and nods. “Only you, hyung,” he says without thinking.

Minho’s eyes flicker up from his lap to his face, and for a brief, horrible moment, Jisung is filled with vague dread that he’s done the wrong thing again, but then Minho is smiling softly and slipping his hands under the waistband of Jisung’s briefs. 

“Oh,” Minho whispers, glazed eyes full of awe when Jisung’s length is finally exposed. 

“Oh?” Jisung repeats, laughter bubbling in his chest even though nothing about the situation is humorous. 

“Your ego’s big enough as it is,” Minho dismisses, seemingly deciding against elaborating, but it’s enough. Jisung hisses when Minho takes him into his hand, slathering the wetness around and working him slowly. He looks even bigger with Minho’s small fingers wrapped around him, and the sight makes him squeeze his eyes shut and let out a shaky breath. 

Minho scoots closer until Jisung can feel his hot breath on his dick. “Can I?” Jisung can only nod and watch, amazed, as Minho puckers his pretty lips and places a kiss on his tip, making his breath hitch. Minho’s tongue laves at the spot before moving to the base where he licks back up a few times, making Jisung stutter out little moans all the while. He flicks his tongue at a spot on the underside of Jisung’s cock that has him throwing his head back with a groan, hitting it on the back of the couch in a way that would be painful if he weren’t hyper-focused on Minho’s tongue. 

Minho pulls away and strokes him a few times before locking eyes with Jisung and letting his mouth hang open, tongue lolling out of his mouth, then leans forward. Jisung grabs at the edge of the couch cushions in anticipation as Minho stares into his soul and gets closer and _closer_ and—

Misses. The tip of Jisung’s dick hits the corner of his mouth instead. Jisung sputters out a laugh as Minho’s head falls onto Jisung’s thigh, his shoulders shaking with laughter. 

They sit there like that for a moment, laughing at an inebriated Minho’s expense, until Jisung is able to stop giggling long enough to realize that his achingly hard dick is still in Minho’s unmoving hand. He reaches forward sluggishly to run his hand through Minho’s hair, a silent request to please touch him again, _please._

Minho’s laughter dies out, too, but a smile stays on his lips. “I’m usually better at this,” he says, his hand finally moving again. Jisung does not doubt it, though he thinks this Minho is doing perfectly fine.

He tries again with little warning, deciding not to look away from his goal this time and successfully taking Jisung into his mouth, swirling his tongue around the tip where it can reach. Jisung moans, his hand tangling itself in Minho’s hair. Minho hums around him as he sinks lower, driving Jisung wild and eliciting a string of _fuck_ s as he envelops most of him with his hot, wet mouth. 

It doesn’t take long for him to start bobbing his head, his hand covering for him at the base of Jisung’s cock. Jisung throws his head back again, crying out with pleasure. 

“Fuck, so good,” Jisung hears himself say, tightening the hold of the hand in Minho’s hair. Minho moans and it feels fucking _heavenly,_ so he pulls again, and again, the sound of Jisung’s unabashed moans and Minho’s muffled whimpers filling the room. Jisung squeezes his eyes shut in pleasure and tries to commit the feeling of Minho’s mouth around him to memory the best he can, until he can’t focus anymore because the pressure in his stomach is building quickly and Minho feels so goddamn _good._

“Gonna come,” he gasps, trying to pull Minho off of him by his hair, but he resists, taking it more as encouragement than anything. “I’m gonna come, _fuck,_ Minho—” He makes one last feeble attempt to pull Minho off, finally lifting his head to look at him again, his mouth going dry and his head empty at the sight. 

Minho’s shoulder shakes in an unmistakable motion as he jerks himself off. Jisung wants to tell him to stop, to let him take care of it, but falters completely when he meets Minho’s gaze. Minho is already staring up at Jisung with dark eyes— _has_ been—pupils blown impossibly wide with unadulterated want while he fucks his own hand. 

The sheer intensity of Minho’s gaze pushes him to the peak and makes him see stars. Jisung moans loud enough to embarrass himself even high, his back arching while warmth spreads throughout his body and his release shoots down Minho’s throat. Minho dutifully works him through it with his hand until Jisung is completely spent and manages to swallow most of it down, a remnant dripping down his chin. 

Minho doesn’t seem to mind, ignoring it in favor of returning his hand to his own cock, his gaze fixated on a fucked out Jisung all the while. 

“Stop,” Jisung croaks, partially in embarrassment but mostly with the desire to get Minho off himself. He sits up to pull his pants up and grab at Minho’s sleeve. Minho reluctantly slows to a stop and eyes him curiously. “Let me.”

Once he has his pants back on he pats his lap and Minho hesitates but crawls into it, resuming their earlier positions. His pants are shoved down to his mid-thigh haphazardly, his flushed erection on full display right in front of Jisung. Jisung wets his lips. 

“You don’t have to—”

Jisung quiets Minho when he carefully wraps a hand around his cock, already slick with precum, and pumps it tentatively, studying Minho’s face. His eyes flutter shut and his lips part with a soft sound. Jisung brings his free hand up to wipe away the cum still on Minho’s chin, only for him to take Jisung’s thumb into his mouth and lick it clean. Jisung’s poor, spent dick twitches in interest. 

Minho keeps sucking on his thumb until Jisung pulls away with a wet noise to place his hand on the back of Minho’s neck instead, pulling him down for a kiss. Minho moans against him, back arching and hands grabbing desperately wherever they can reach as Jisung speeds up his movements. 

“ _Fuck_ ,” Minho pulls away to whimper and bares his neck before Jisung, who immediately latches on to lick and suck at the sensitive skin at its base. Minho’s grip on Jisung’s shoulder tightens as he murmurs more expletives, so he continues assaulting his skin, selfishly leaving blooming marks in his wake that will remind them both later that this was real and how good it felt.

“Jisung, Jisung,” Minho pants out like a prayer, hands scrambling to hold the back of Jisung’s head while the latter nibbles at his collarbones and tries to focus on something else before he gets hard again just from Minho saying his name. “Jisung, close.”

Jisung pumps him harder, thumb brushing against his wet slit with each stroke. He sucks at a new spot on the side of his neck, wondering if maybe he’s overdoing it but too overcome with the desire to see Minho’s skin dotted with proof of this night, proof of Jisung’s lips on his neck. 

“Come for me, baby,” Jisung mumbles against his skin and Minho cries out almost instantly, shaking on top of him with the force of his orgasm as he spills over Jisung’s hand. Jisung’s strokes slow to a stop and Minho all but collapses against him panting, his forehead meeting Jisung’s shoulder again. 

Jisung lazily plays with his hair and is left to contemplate the consequences of all this until Minho catches his breath and sits back up, looking between them at the mess he made. 

“Sorry.” Minho smiles weakly.

Jisung only pulls him down for another kiss, savoring the final moments before the moment ends and they pretend it never happened. 

“Jisung,” Minho pulls away to say. _There it is._ Jisung, not ready to face reality, crashes their lips back together fervently, greedily. Minho lets him. He clings desperately to the moment, to Minho’s taste, to the memory of his soft moans and lips parted in bliss, to the way he felt when Minho looked at him with so much desire he foolishly believed that maybe Minho could want him too. 

“Jisung?” Minho says again, quietly, his thumb swiping a wetness off of Jisung’s cheek. Only then does he realize a lonely tear had escaped his eye. Minho’s eyes search his own, wide in concern. 

Jisung feels panic rise in him, teetering dangerously on the edge of ruining years of friendship. He tries to run the other way.

“It’s late,” Jisung says, averting his gaze as he gently pushes Minho off of his lap. “You should get going. I’ll lend you a shirt.”

“Oh,” Minho says, voice small. Jisung’s heart breaks as he lifts off of the couch, body heavy, to trudge to his room to clean up and grab something to replace Minho’s shirt and his own. He settles on one of his own too-big sweaters for Minho since it’s chilly out and he always tells Jisung how cute they are on him.

Minho is fidgeting on the edge of the couch when Jisung returns, looking up at him with glassy doe eyes as he accepts the sweater. 

“Did I take it too far?” Minho asks softly. 

Jisung sighs. He wants to shoo him out the door so he can pretend none of this happened, like he usually does. Like he tries to, anyway. He caves and sits on the couch a fair distance away, knowing he won’t get out of this without an explanation and not wanting Minho to feel at fault. Minho changes out of his shirt while Jisung stares out the window to the balcony where it all started as if it would grant him the right words to say.

“It’s just… It feels…wrong. I don’t want to mess up our friendship over stupid shit we do while we’re high.” Minho winces at that, in a subtle way that only Jisung can pick up on. “N-Not that I don’t _enjoy_ it or anything. That’s the problem, I think. So it’s probably for the best if we just… don’t.”

Jisung runs a hand through his hair, hating himself for being so completely full of _shit._ For falling in love with his best friend, for doing those things with him anyway, for putting a stop to something they both enjoy because he can’t keep his feelings in check and not see it for more than it ever was, for not putting a stop to it soon enough.

“Okay, no more,” Minho agrees quietly, too easily, and Jisung feels a twinge of disappointment despite being the one to suggest it. Minho inches closer and gently takes Jisung’s hand into his own. “But…Jisung, why were you crying?”

Shit.

“Don’t worry about it.” 

It’s Minho. Of course he will.

“Jisung.” Minho takes a deep breath and continues with a shaky voice. “This is my fault. I was being selfish. I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s not.” Jisung frowns. “I’m the one who’s—”

“I took advantage of you, I’m so sorry, I thought you wanted…” Minho looks closer to crying than Jisung has seen him in years. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“What? No, I did, it’s not—” Jisung reaches for his other hand in a frantic attempt to reassure him, but Minho pulls away and stands to leave.

“Hyung,” Jisung calls, his voice cracking. 

“I’m sorry,” Minho mumbles again. 

“Minho!” 

He doesn’t stop. Jisung realizes that he has to choose between hurting Minho, the last thing he ever wanted to do, and making his feelings known. The choice is easy, but so hard.

Jisung takes a deep breath before he dives headfirst off of the edge he’d been so determined to avoid, plunging into a sea of uncertainty.

“Minho, I’m in love with you.”

Minho stops in his tracks, and Jisung holds his breath, left only to desperately wonder if he made the right decision. If the alternative is seeing Minho hurt like this, it’s well worth the risk.

“That’s why I…” Jisung starts when Minho doesn’t respond, frozen in place. “I know you don’t feel the same, I just—”

“What?” Minho asks incredulously, turning to face the younger. His eyes shine with unshed tears, the aftereffects of the weed, and something else Jisung can’t quite place. His face breaks out into a grin when he shuffles over and plops back down onto the couch. “Are you stupid?”

Yes. Yes, _yes,_ he’s stupid, _so stupid_ —but why is Minho smiling at him so fondly? Where is the expression of pity he’d pictured in his mind so many times, the regret in Minho’s voice as he tells him he can’t return Jisung’s feelings?

Why does Minho have so much light in his glassy eyes, and why is Jisung letting it fill him with hope?

“What?” he manages, voice quiet in the otherwise silent room.

“Of course I feel the same, dumbass,” Minho laughs, his hand reaching to caress Jisung’s cheek. Butterflies swirl in his stomach at the touch. Jisung stares back at him, dumbfounded, and Minho starts to let his hand fall, uncertainty flashing across his features. “D-Did you mean it?”

Minho’s words sink in and settle in Jisung’s chest, flooding him with warmth. Everything suddenly falls into place. 

Of course he feels the same. Of course Jisung is a dumbass. _Of course._

“Yes,” Jisung chokes out, willing himself not to cry again. He hurries to cover the hand on his face with his own, leaning into the touch. Despite his best efforts, tears well in his eyes. “God, yes, so much.”

“Me too,” Minho whispers, stroking his cheek with a gentle thumb and leaning in to kiss away the single tear that falls. “We’re idiots, huh?”

“Yeah,” Jisung chuckles wetly, wrapping his arms around Minho’s waist and pulling him closer. He smiles as Minho presses a soft kiss on each of his eyelids.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

Jisung frowns. “Don’t be. We’ve established that we’re both oblivious idiots.”

Minho tilts his head and gives Jisung a brilliant smile, running a hand through his hair. “Can I kiss you?” he asks.

It’s different from all the times he’s asked before. His eyes are still red, but they’re looking at Jisung so incredibly soft and lovingly, sparkling with all the genuine passion and love he’s ever buried beneath the surface.

Jisung beams at him brightly, suddenly feeling lighter in every way imaginable as his happiness materializes in his eyes again and threatens to spill down his cheeks. He nods. 

It’s Minho. Of course he can kiss him.

“Wait,” he stops Minho with a finger to his eager lips. “I wanna hear you say it.”

Minho’s eyes turn to dark crescents as he giggles.

“I love you, Jisung.” His free hand joins the other in cupping Jisung’s face, planting a fervent kiss on his lips. “I’m in love with you.” Another kiss. “You’re my soulmate.” Another. "Mine."

“Yours,” Jisung smiles against his lips.

And Jisung kisses him. And he keeps kissing him. And he invites Minho to stay the night and lends him a pair of too-small shorts that don’t do Jisung’s fragile mental state any favors. They sober up, and still he kisses him.

Jisung learns what it’s like to taste Minho without the lingering smoke and regret, and he isn’t kept up with thoughts of what could be, because he’s falling asleep learning what it’s like to hold Minho in his arms knowing that he loves him too.

He wouldn’t change a thing.

**Author's Note:**

> literally just wanted to write minsung getting high and horny and then jisung went and cried a bunch, oh well. kudos/comments appreciated! :3  
> 


End file.
